


In Memory

by Invader_FanGirl



Category: GHOST | GHOST and Pals (Musician)
Genre: (not really) - Freeform, Because [FAX MACHINE NOISES] from Dance with the Dead isn't a character option, Brief Mention of Suicide, Discussions about death and loss, Gen, Gore soil decay and more, Mentions of occult practices, POV First Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-15
Updated: 2020-07-15
Packaged: 2021-03-04 21:21:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,019
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25153126
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Invader_FanGirl/pseuds/Invader_FanGirl
Summary: After a hard day's work of maintenance, a young groundskeeper encounters a strange man in a cemetery. As the boy strikes up a conversation with the visitor, he quickly finds that this mysterious man only leaves him with more questions than answers.
Kudos: 11





	In Memory

**Author's Note:**

> And now for something completely different! This story is based off of an ic post I made as Christopher on my rp blog. Enjoy!
> 
> The post in question: https://madness-within-the-mirror.tumblr.com/post/614599582590074880/i-just-thought-of-something-so-i-had-died

People say that I'm superstitious.

And you know what? They're not entirely wrong!

I've always been known as the weird, spooky kid in town. I'm the kid that parents tell their children to stay away from. I'm the kid that's rumored to have a dark past, with creepy hobbies. I'm the kid who, as far as anyone knows, probably does witchcraft or voodoo or something sketchy like that. 

But that's not true at all! Sure, I like ghosts and "cursed" objects and scary places, but that's where it stops! I just _like_ scary things! I don't _actually_ think any of it is real! What, are horror fans suddenly equal to occultists now? That's not very fair to say, don't you think??

Although, I'll have to admit, I _do_ believe in ghosts. In fact, I've seen quite a lot of them, and the rituals that I've done to summon them actually _do_ work! Yet despite people's suspicions of me, nobody believes me when I say that!

But you know what? I'm pretty sure that I've seen one just recently, _without_ the help of a ritual! At least… I _think_ I did? I mean, the whole scenario seemed weird when I stopped to think about it afterwards, so… maybe you can give me a second opinion? _Maybe?_ That would be nice, because I'm not actually a hundred percent sure myself.

So yeah, here's the story. Lemme know what you think of this...

It happened right before my shift ended at work, just as dusk rolled around. I work as a groundskeeper at a graveyard, which is, yeah, a weird job for a twelve-year-old kid to have, but it pays pretty well! And besides, I _like_ hanging out at graveyards, so I'm also being _paid_ to be where I like to be! So _ha!_

But anyway, back to the story: it was right when the sun was about to set when I finished my duties. I had tended the flowers, dusted off a bunch of the graves, and tidied up the mausoleums. A fine day's work, if I do say so myself! I had started during the late afternoon and finished right before nighttime, because people usually visit during the day. Doing things that way leaves me more room to work, you know?

And so there I was, carrying my trusty shovel back to my tool shack, when suddenly, _for whatever reason,_ I spotted a visitor entering through the cemetery gates! And I think, _Huh, visiting hours are almost over. Why would someone come here so late?_

Still in thought, I decided to stand there and see where they were going. I'm not creepy, I swear! It's just that sometimes people come for a tour of the graveyard, and that just so happens to be my second job. Plus, it would be awful if they got _lost_ in the cemetery, right? I could lose my job because of that. And also, I couldn't have something like that on my conscience; I'm only twelve!

Since I was standing still, they didn't notice me as they walked past, but I got a good look at them. Whoever this stranger was, they dressed _really_ formally. Like, with a bow tie and everything. From what I've seen, people don't usually visit while wearing super fancy clothes unless the death was recent, so at that moment, I kinda felt bad for them.

That is, until I noticed their hair? And _skin??_ I'm not kidding when I say this: they were _pure white!_ Like, _paper_ white! I've seen pale people before, but this wasn't albinism, this was something else! I guessed then that maybe it wasn't real hair, and they were just wearing makeup. But the question was _why?!_ With those formal clothes and in a _cemetery_ of all places, who makes the decision to _look_ like that?

So, _super_ interested in this person now, I began to follow them. I made sure to be extra quiet as I trailed behind them, ducking behind graves and bushes whenever I needed to. Easier said than done while carrying a shovel, but I think I managed. They didn't turn around a single time! Haha!

A few minutes passed, and eventually they stopped at a particular grave. It was at the end of one of the many rows of graves, in fact. I peered over the tombstone I was hiding behind in order to see what the visitor was doing.

To my surprise, they were just… standing there. Staring. At the grave.

They didn't break down, cry, or even bow their head in sorrow. That's what I'm used to seeing. That's the _normal_ reaction to visiting a grave of someone you knew. Sadness, despair—heck, even _frustration_ would have made sense. But no, there was nothing. Absolutely nothing. They didn’t even say a word.

Another while passed, and they were still standing there. I started to wonder if maybe they were praying quietly or something, but their hands weren't clasped together. So _that_ possibility was ruled out. Maybe they were just lost in thought? That would make sense. But if someone's lost in thought for _this_ long, then it's a little worrying. And so I started to get worried.

After another moment of hesitation, I stepped out from behind the tombstone and tried to casually make it back to the path, acting as if I were walking on it this whole time. I called out, "Uh, excuse me?"

The stranger jolted, startled out of their thoughts. They turned to face me, and I saw that they were holding a bouquet of flowers in one hand. "Yes?" they answered.

(I also noticed that their voice was rather masculine, so from now on, I'll be referring to the visitor as a _he._ Don't ask why, I just have a feeling. And besides, the end of this story _kinda_ gave me a hint, so…)

I realized then that I didn't exactly have anything to say. Nothing that would lead into a normal conversation, anyway. So I decided to switch into Work Mode™, pointing to the setting sun behind me with my thumb. "Sorry, but it's getting late, sir. Visiting hours are almost over."

For a second, the visitor looked annoyed. Then, after putting on a more neutral expression, he sighed. "Right, well… I'll be just a moment. Please give me a few minutes, at least," he replied. His voice sounded tired.

"Yeah, sure," I said, because saying anything else would be _super rude_ and _messed up._

He looked back towards the grave after that, falling silent once more. Feeling curious (and slightly more brave, now that I'd revealed myself), I approached the stranger. He didn't look at me as I came closer, and I took the opportunity to subtly glance over at the name engraved onto the tombstone.

And my eyes widen.

Because I _know_ about this one.

I mean listen, it's not my business to pry or anything, but if you've worked in a graveyard for as long as I have, and you see a few tombstones here and there everyday with _titles_ in-between the dead people's names, you'd want to know where they got them! And so you ask questions to a bunch of locals! And hear some _really_ cool stories!

So yeah, I'm surprised to find out that this guy might be related to a _story character,_ and I'm really excited. But I still had to be respectful, so barely containing my excitement, I calmly asked, "Were you related to him?"

The stranger almost smiled at my question. But for some reason, he stopped himself, keeping his expression guarded. "In a sense, yes," he said, his tone even.

That answer only made it more difficult to curb my enthusiasm. I was so happy that I was practically hugging my shovel at this point. "Really? Then do you know about the story?" I continued eagerly.

He gave me a confused look. "Story? What story?"

My excitement faltered. "You don't know?"

"No. What exactly have you heard?"

And then it picked back up. "Oh, well, first off, this story's pretty old. So—”

That’s when I told him the dead guy’s story. A story about a man with the ability to change his appearance with the help of a mirror. A story about a man whose beautiful appearance did not match his personality; a man who was manipulative and hurtful towards everyone around him. And in the end, the mirrors turned him into a monster, revealing to the world what he truly was inside. 

As I spoke, I studied the visitor for his reactions. But to my surprise, he barely reacted at all! His expression was totally unreadable as he listened to me. Just… completely blank. I wasn't sure what to think of it. Once I had finished telling the story, there was a moment of silence. The whole time, I continued to stare at the stranger, but he didn't notice. He seemed lost in thought once more, probably processing the story in his head.

Then he said, "That's completely wrong."

I jumped in surprise. _"What?!_ Really??"

"Yes. The story is full of errors."

"It is?" I asked. Then I thought about it for a moment. Not only did I leave out some parts, but who knows a story better than someone who apparently knew a character from it? I felt sheepish. "Well… I guess I did forget some things. What parts did I get wrong?"

The man averted his gaze, waving his hand dismissively. "It would take too long to list them all. Just tell whoever you heard the story from that they're wrong. It would save us both the trouble if you did just that."

That's a lot of sources. And therefore, a _lot_ of talking and correcting that I had to do. And not only that, but I would need to find these people _all over again??_ I slumped in defeat, thinking of all of the work ahead of me. "Aw man."

He quirked a brow at my reaction. And then he chuckled. “Well, if it’s that many people, I suppose you don’t have to tell everyone. At least a few, then; that should be enough. I would appreciate it if they were corrected as soon as possible, that’s all. The story is very… personal to me, you see.”

I thought about that for a minute. Then I hummed in acknowledgement. I wanted to ask more questions, but it seemed that whoever this was, he wasn’t willing to tell me more about the real version of the story. Which was strange, because he seemed very adamant about correcting the errors in my version, but whatever. I decided not to push it. You can only say so much in a conversation with a complete _stranger,_ after all.

_...Hmm,_ I thought.

Turning the shovel around in my hands, I dug it into the dirt below, straightening it up before allowing it to stand by itself. It was tiring me out, carrying that. The shovel came up to about shoulder height compared to me, which was pretty convenient whenever I wanted to lean on it. And lean on it I did, resting my chin on my hands atop the base of the tool.

"Right, _personal…"_ I said breezily. Smiling, I tipped my head to the side. "That's why you know so much about it, right?"

The man frowned. "Yes. Do you doubt me?"

I laughed, shaking my head. "Nah, I believe you. Only someone who knew the guy personally somehow would visit his grave. Although, it's a little weird, now that I think about it…" I trailed off.

He narrowed his eyes skeptically. "How so?"

"Well, like I said, the guy was basically evil. That's one thing that all of the stories had in common. Another was that he had a connection to mirrors and appearances. But you _are_ right about some versions having inconsistencies."

That seemed to interest him. "Oh?"

I grinned, happy that I could keep him on this topic, despite his reluctance to talk about it. "Yeah, the endings were different every time. Some say that he turned into a monster in the end. Others say he killed himself. One ending says that he isolated himself in his house forever. And then there's this rumor going around that he haunts a local mansion."

I blew a raspberry, rolling my eyes. "But if you ask me? My guess is that he was either killed by someone else, or he actually did kill himself. Those just make the most sense, all things considered."

The visitor gaped at me, utterly bewildered at my words. The look on his face almost made me laugh again. "I'm sorry, _how old are you?"_ he demanded.

"Twelve."

_"Twelve?"_ he echoed, incredulous. "And you're saying things like this? What are you even doing in a cemetery?"

I stared pointedly down at my shovel. "I work here. I'm the groundskeeper."

That seemed to make him even more confused. I wonder what confused him more: my morbid comments, or the fact that I have a job at my age. I guess at the moment, I kinda forgot what is and isn't proper to say in conversations. Whoops! But anyway, because of me, the man struggled for a moment to find his words.

I decided to spare him the effort, since that was mostly my fault. Closing my eyes, I continued, "Well, whatever the ending, I'm glad he was stopped early on with what he was doing. I'm pretty sure that all of the stories mention that he died young, which is kinda good, as awful as that sounds. That means that he can't hurt anyone anymore."

"...I doubt that."

I opened my eyes, finding that the visitor had turned back toward the grave. He had an odd expression on his face this time. It might have been a trick of the light, but I could have sworn that he was _smirking._

I tentatively asked, "What do you mean?"

"Well," he began, eerily casual, "people can still have an effect on others even after death. Lasting effects. Damaging effects. Wouldn't you agree?"

I paused to let that sink in. _That… did make sense,_ I eventually reasoned. "I guess so," I answered slowly. Uneasily. "People get hurt by grief all the time, especially right after someone dies."

I was sure that my answer was correct, but the man shook his head, his smirk easing into a smile. "No, I didn't mean like that."

I furrowed my brow, confused by his attitude. "Then could you explain, please?"

He chuckled again, lowering his gaze. He was silent for a moment. His hand tightened around the bouquet, and a strange, dark look suddenly appeared on his face. When he spoke, his voice was quiet. "Whenever someone dies, some say that traces of the dead still linger. Like a ghost. Watching. Waiting. And with their presence, they influence the life around them; the life that they no longer have, little by little. And they never truly leave."

I blinked a couple of times, eyebrows raised. I honestly didn't expect him to say something meaningful like that. And he was kinda right, if you think about it. I've never lost anyone close to me, but I've seen the effect that death can have on other people over time. I knew that lots of folks can spend weeks grieving over those they've lost. And sure, people _eventually_ move on, but many choose to return to their grief, either out of kindness or obligation. I mean, why else do people visit cemeteries?

Then I began to think: why would this man visit the grave of someone like him? What connection did he have to him? Was he a distant relative? A friend of a friend? A more _invested_ fan of the story? If so, then how can his death affect him _that_ badly? Just... _why?_

These were all questions that I knew I couldn't exactly ask.

A while passed. I realized way too late that I was supposed to say something in response. I stuttered for a bit, uselessly trying and failing to say anything significant. However, before I could come up with anything, the stranger cut me off, pleasantly saying with another smile:

"But I'm not superstitious. So what do I know?"

And with that, he finally set the bouquet down on the grave. I noted the choice of flowers: purple hyacinths and orange orchids. (I need to remember to look up the meanings of those later.) The man then turned to leave, walking past me once again on the pathway. 

I watched him walk a little ways away from me, and I frowned. Didn't even bother to say goodbye. Geez.

Standing upright, I looked towards the grave. Then towards the flowers. Then to the grave again. And then quickly back at the visitor.

I called out, "Wait!"

He stopped, sparing an uninterested glance toward me. "Yes?"

The man must have seen my conflicted expression as soon as he turned around, because he smiled once more, looking _amused_ out of all things. I gritted my teeth. What was with this guy? He knew what he was doing, didn’t he? With the way he spoke during our conversation… those hints weren’t coincidental; they were dropped _on purpose,_ weren’t they? 

Oh, that was _so_ annoying to think about. He probably thought he was clever, making me as puzzled as I was at that moment. I had to get straight answers, but judging by how he was unwilling to discuss the story in detail, it was unlikely that I was going to get any. But at the very least, I absolutely _needed_ to clear up one suspicion that I’ve had since the start of all this. 

And so I cautiously asked, "Why… why would you leave flowers for such a terrible person?"

A pause. He appeared to consider this, and we stared at each other as he mulled it over. Then he faced forward again, continuing on his walk. As he did, he said something that surprised me; something that still bugs me to this day:

"I just thought he'd like them."


End file.
